


The Beginning Of The End

by Starherd



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, But either way would be very early on in the relationship, Can be taken as Stand-Alone or Prequel to my other fics, Gen, One-Shot, Other, however you want to take that relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starherd/pseuds/Starherd
Summary: The infinitesimal moment that spawns an infinity of new realities goes nearly unnoticed.
Relationships: Black Hat & Dr. Flug (Villainous)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	The Beginning Of The End

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I've been having a terribly busy summer and have a few months of temp job to go yet, so not getting any writing done as fast as I'd like. But here, have some... something.
> 
> \----------------------------

[ Music: [O Death by Jen Titus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWabGQBnzKo) ]

By the time Black Hat realized the full extent of the danger, it was already far too late.

It was hardly the first time; he'd existed much too long for that. Even his existence among humans had been too long.

He'd safeguarded against this. He had recognized the risk from almost the first moment that he'd become acquainted with _this_ human in the first place.

But it had been such a long time since he'd encountered a human with the skills and tastes and _drive_ of Dr. Kenning Flugslys.

And the world had changed so much. Black Hat simply couldn't bear the thought of letting the chance of entertainment slip away, despite the risk.

But.

_But._

Humans disappoint. Humans end.

Flug was a human, or would be for a little longer, at least. A victim of his human imperfections, he was curled helplessly in the corner between wall and bookshelf. Well, most of him was curled. His legs were too mangled for him to move. Blood was blooming through the shreds of his lab coat, more smeared down his chin, and his goggles had come off; they lay on the floor across the room, lenses shattered. It even appeared that his paper bag was torn. Flug took small, quick breaths, but Black Hat knew that it was the alterations the man had made to his own body were what kept him conscious, rather than a lack of injury. He'd watched Flug using procedures on himself that the scientist had originally designed for Dementia - when he thought no one could see, rationalizing that he just needed to be able to _keep up._

It hadn't been enough.

Black Hat stared down at his scientist, a dozen portraits on the walls around them doing the same. Flug did not stare back. His eyes were slowly unfocusing - well, the functional eye was, the other having gone still and half-lidded some minutes ago.

His lips moved, fractionally, dark liquid spilling from the corner of his half-hidden mouth. "M'sorry," he whispered, barely any sound to it. "M'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry..."

Black Hat waited. In mere moments he'd be in need of a new head scientist, though he dreaded the thought of the selection process. So much boring, repetitive interaction.

What was the point? Even once he'd hired a replacement, it would doubtless only be an aggravating debacle over and over, until someone as ambitious _and_ competent as Flug came along again. And even then, there would be, what, a few short years at best? And then he'd have to repeat the entire damned process.

And it would only end up like this again, eventually. Again, again, again.

"Jefe - cito..."

He'd looked away, at the wrecked Cam-bot off to one side - always the first thing to go when there was an unexpected disappointment. But now Black Hat looked back. Flug's watering eye had momentarily focused, pupil dilated, though that was already fading. The pauses between gasps had grown quite long, at this point.

Moments more, and he would no longer have to suffer Flug's obsequious simpering ever again. The man had no concept of appropriate employee/employer interaction - but of course, with his intelligence, he'd never before submitted to any authority, either. He'd never seen the point (nor should he have, considering his brilliance), and he'd rebelled against any rule imposed upon him. The concept of demonstrating respect even on so common a basis as familial relation had been destroyed by his family's failure to attend to him. Of _course_ he had so little idea of how to behave properly that he'd made a ridiculous, nigh-insulting game of it.

But oh, the things he'd _made._ Those Black Hat would value for a long time. And it was not only the scientist's experiments and constructions, but the ways in which he _used_ them, that were so impressive - his vindictive depravity added layer upon delightful layer of horror to his artificium.

Perhaps Flug's replacement wouldn't chronically be so immersed in his work that he rushed deadlines and cut corners.

Doubtful. The methodical ones were always so much less... enthusiastic.

Fine. He'd appreciated Flug's particular melange of madness. Black Hat could admit that. There was no question that he'd seek that out again. But it would make the hiring process take that much longer, and make for a difficult time.

Longer pauses. The blood wasn't blooming so much as seeping now, and Flug had finally fallen silent, though his bluish lips still tried to move. It might have been involuntary.

Black Hat could smell what was coming, could _taste_ it, and salivated in anticipation.

Not as much as in similar circumstances previous, however. That realization was... troubling.

Something was wrong.

 _Something_ was _wrong._

It didn't feel the same. Why didn't it feel the same? It was almost like he didn't _relish_ the prospect of this death. It should be like the last page of a novel, a _good_ novel, to be consumed and closed and digested and then _shelved,_ to be looked back upon fondly. And then on to the next tale. Instead it felt as though he didn't see the point of reading, once this book was closed.

This. This was.

Something.

_Different._

Nothing was different. Not any more. Not for ages. Nothing in this glorious misbegotten world was different. There was nothing new under the sun.

But this...

Black Hat immediately felt the need to decipher _why._ This was important. If, after _so long,_ something was finally _new,_ he desperately needed to know why. He had to _know._

He'd need more time.

Black Hat turned away - he did _not_ step backward first, absolutely did _not,_ regardless of the mixture of unease and elation that boiled up within him - and brought one hand to his mouth for him to contemplatively gnaw on a finger. He carelessly raised the other hand and snapped his fingers as he crossed the room. Overturned and broken furniture resumed former places and conditions; books and mementos reappeared on their shelves and pedestals; paintings straightened, watching _him_ now. All was righted.

Flug gasped loudly, suddenly able to draw full breath again, and immediately he pulled his newly whole, untwisted legs in to properly curl up, arms around his head. Everything was repaired, unstained. He suffered no more pain than he had before he'd entered the room. There was no torn skin, no broken bones, not so much as a drop of blood on his lab coat. His goggles were replaced; even his paper bag was whole and functional again.

And all the man could do was squeeze his eyes shut and whimper, because a moment ago, that had not been the case.

"Get up," Black Hat snapped, and waited a moment, because he knew that Flug would. And did, though he still pressed himself back into the corner.

"Get back to work. Take your toys with you." He nodded to the Cam-bot and the pieces of the device Flug had been trying to present to him.

Flug stumbled forward and knelt, carefully picking up pieces. Black Hat could _hear_ his hands shaking.

He wasn't processing properly. Suppressing his reactions. They'd fester and become inconvenient later.

"You shouldn't remember this," Black Hat instructed, flicking his hand over his shoulder.

Flug straightened, his breath easing, and made a small sound of confusion at the fragments in his hands. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he exclaimed, disturbingly aware that he'd no idea what had happened. "I - I think it... needs a little more work, before it's ready to -"

"Take as long as you need," Black Hat said, hands behind his back, stepping around his desk to take his seat. "It isn't a good day after all. Mitigrating circumstances."

"Yes, sir," Flug said, suspicious at the lack of repercussions for what had clearly been some sort of failure. He glanced curiously at the way all the faces in the paintings were focused on the desk. They hadn't always been like that, had they? "I'm sor-"

" _ **GO.**_ "

"Yessir!" Flug glanced about at the floor, jammed the broken pieces of his latest ruined invention into his lab coat pockets, and grabbed two of the Cam-bot's legs to drag it out of the office. The doors swung shut behind him with the sound of a sealing tomb.

Black Hat sat, elbows on his desk, hands folded in front of his mouth, and stared at nothing, and stared, and stared, still staring long after the portraits were only portraits again.

The world had changed so much.


End file.
